


The Land that Breeds No Hero

by Harlecat



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Future, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-23 17:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harlecat/pseuds/Harlecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The girl who was to save Night Vale is not the girl who finds herself walking down Route 88. Not the girl who finds herself trapped in a life that isn't hers, in a town that feels wrong. Her name is different than the one written down at City Hall. But then again, just because something is written in stone does not mean the future is set.</p><p>Post Parade Day fic/alternate ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

**Before**

_"Unhappy is the land that breeds no hero." -Life of Galileo by Bertolt Brecht_

 

"Tamika, just before her arrest, calmly waved a heavily-notated copy of Bertolt Brecht’s Life of Galileo. She then paraphrased the influential German playwright saying, 'Sad is not the land that has no hero. Sad is the land that  _needs_  a hero.'" Cecil took a deep breath, and leaned away from his desk, drumming his fingers against it, before he spoke again. "An officer took the book and slid it into a plastic bag, as Tamika was handcuffed and led into the back of a bright yellow police cruiser with orange triangle logos.

"Night Vale… Night Vale." He closed his eyes. "I tried to tell you about this day. I was very clear. Tamika was very clear. We could have  _done_  something, Night Vale, but _we_ …chose not to. Not  _one_  citizen outside of Tamika and her band of brilliant, brave,  _children_  stood up to tyranny today! We  _all_  chose to stand down, and  _hope_  change would be won  _for_  us, and not  _by_  us! By someone else, we believed." Cecil bit his lip. "A hero, we believed. But belief is only step one.  _Action_  is step two. Fighting for what you believe is step two. Solidarity is step two. Unity is step two. We did not take step two today, Night Vale! And now there will be _no_ step three! We have failed Tamika. But worse, we have failed ourselves."

There was a sound, and Cecil looked up. Two people had entered his studio. He swallowed. "I’m– um…I’ve got guests in my studio," he said quickly. His heart skidded to a halt. "I don’t know how they undid my secret barricade made of cardboard signs that said _Keep out!_  and _Secret room!_  in all caps with an exclamation point, but it’s my program director, Lauren, and some man I’ve never seen bef–" Cecil stopped. He squinted. "But no, I  _have_  seen him before! Where have I seen you before?" He shocked his head to clear it, and turned back to his microphone as they started towards him. "They do not look happy, Night Vale. Lauren and the  _stranger_ -" he put emphasis on the the last word, staring into the  _stranger's_ eyes "-are smiling widely, their teeth white, lips pink, their eyes full but tight, deep dimples making their tiny noses into parenthetical asides,  _they are smiling_ , but they look very unhappy." He inhaled sharply.  _Just finish the broadcast, Cecil. Then you can go home. You can go home to Carlos and Khoshekh._ "Perhaps it is, uhh, time to sign off for the day. Um, I am sure to speak to you again very soon, listeners." He swallowed, glancing up at Lauren and the strange man, who had reached his desk. He lowered his eyes, staring down at the papers in front of him, and then back up. "Stay tuned next for the gentle sounds of forgiveness, and a lilting melody of wounds healing, and until next time, goodnight, Night Vale–" A hand grabbed him, and Cecil was yanked up. "Hey! _Hey!_ What are you– Ge–"

The microphone was knocked over. Cecil yelled, but the stranger- or was it Lauren?- yanked him back towards the door, muttering. "Hey! _Hey_! Let go of me, get off, get-"

They yanked Cecil closer, and he recognized the voice, but he didn't know where  _from_.

"Come with me, and keep  _quiet,"_ he hissed.

"But- But I need to finish the broadcast-"

_"We have Khoshekh."_

Cecil's eyes widened. "B-but… the… I need to… I've got to."

The stranger pressed his lips to Cecil's ear (or, rather, the air near his ear). "A scientist went into the house in the development, and there's no one to open the door for him. It would be a  _shame_ if no one was there to let him out!  _Ever!_ "

Cecil fell silent. The strange man pulled him through the door of the booth. He saw Lauren bend over and yank out a fistful of wires from underneath his desk. His breath caught in his throat.

That desk was his  _life._

Carlos was his  _life._  Khoshekh was. His.  _Life._

 _Night Vale_ was his life. Cecil bit his lip, and tasted blood.

It wasn't over yet.


	2. Chapter 2

_"A hero is someone who, in spite of weakness, doubt or not always knowing the answers, goes ahead and overcomes anyway." -Christopher Reeve_

 

_The night is cold. The night is dark. The night is everything a night is and isn’t supposed to be._

Welcome to Night Vale.

 _The girl squints and reads the words off the large, wooden sign. They are faded, and might have once been purple. The letters are arched up over a shape that looks something like an eye, and a city’s silhouette. The edges are molding, and there is more text, but she can’t read it. The sign desperately needs to be repainted, and it would probably help if it wasn’t facing the sky. Someone ought to put it up on a stick, so drivers can read it, like the red metal sign a few miles back, whose white words proclaim_ Route 800. Beware the Deer.

 _After walking a little while longer, she sees why the Night Vale sign is down on the ground. There is a new sign up, one that says_ Welcome to the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area, _across a picture of a sun. This one has bright paint and is planted firmly on the ground._

_The girl frowns at the sign. It does not feel right. The Night Vale sign did. It felt sad, and exactly right. And, as happy as this sign looks, it is wrong. The girl knows this._

_She also knows she is walking in the wrong direction._

 

But I keep walking, along the side of the two-way street with the chapped yellow paint, my feet catching on the side of the asphalt and the coarse sand, making different noises. _Thum-crunkle. Thum-crunkle._ Something howls, far away. I keep walking, and hazy lights appear in the distance. I have come far. Here I will stop.

 _You are going the wrong way,_ I say to myself, and I keep moving. _Thum-crunkle._ The world around me is gray and dark. The little lights are closer, now, and they look bigger. I do not stop moving, even though my feet ache and my breathing is labored. My insides and her outsides are sore, my ears are numb and cold, and the wind stings my eyes. The lights take shapes, little squares and circles set against houses and homes. None of them are mine.

 

_The first building she passed was an Arby’s, the sign glistening red. Several lights were resting in the sky above it. Not stars. That felt right. She knew it was wrong, but it felt perfect. Next, sprung up a police station with locked doors, an empty auction house, an old diner with neon lights that weren’t turned on next to a bowling alley and arcade fun complex. A record store, a music store. City hall. A park. Tall black walls. A car lot. An empty trailers. Now the houses began. Some looked empty. She kept walking. Past more houses. Here is the right road._

 

I stop in front of a white one, Number Three of Somerset. The longest road in the city. There is no car in front, the grass is dying, and the curtains are closed. The paint is chipped. There’s a little crack in my heart. It is not supposed to be this way. The house next to it was not empty. There is a dusty blue car parked in the driveway, and a porch light is on. The grass is green, not like at Number Three, and a bicycle is tilted against the wall.

 

_A man appears in the window of Number Five, and sees her watching the house. Their eyes meet, and the girl wants to walk inside, but no, she tells herself. This isn’t her home. She is shouting it, inside her head._

 

It never was, was it? I don’t remember. I can’t remember. Everything before tonight is blurred. Was this house there? Were Number Three and Five of Somerset there? Were they?

No, I answer, because I am supposed to.

 

_The man in the window stares for a minute, then vanishes, and the girl starts to walk away. The man rushes out in slippers, a bathrobe flung over his boxers, and calls a familiar name. The girl keeps walking. She wants to come to him, she wants to walk into the house, but even though the name is familiar, it is not hers. This is what she tells herself._

 

_The man stops shouting, and goes back inside._

_The girl tries not to turn around. She succeeds._

 

I reach the end of Somerset, and turn onto Earl, passing the tall, dark walls. I keep going, and I reach a house. The walls are yellow with blue accents, and my feet fall upon the gravel path between the grass and up to the front door. I feel odd, as I lift my hand and knock.

The door opens, and a woman, a little shorter than me, appears. Her face lights up. I do not recognize her.

 _“Peyton!”_ she shrieks, and throws her arms around me. My eyebrows shoot up, and I lift my hands to hold her back. She is shaking. The woman kisses my face, and a man appears on the staircase and runs over to embrace us.

“Joseph! Joseph, it’s Peyton!”

I look toward a boy, who looks older than me. He has dark hair and pale skin, and is reading a book on a window seat converted into a couch. He licks his finger, and turns a page.

I am supposed to speak to him.

“Excuse me,” I say, and I untangle myself to walk over to him. I kneel on the ground next to him. “Joseph.”

Without looking at me, he turns another page and says, “You weren’t supposed to come back.”

I open and close my mouth. What?

“My name isn’t Peyton,” I finally say.

“Yes it is. Peyton Wilson.”

“I don’t-”

Joseph looks at me in a way that tells me to fall silent. That night, I fall asleep in a bed I’ve never seen before in a room that Joseph claims in mine.

My name is not Peyton Wilson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote that starts the next chapter will be "A hero is somebody who voluntarily walks into the unknown." -Tom Hanks
> 
> I've decided to start adding the next chapters quote because, by the end, this will be almost like a preview, sometimes. And I'll have fun. So, yeah. Love y'all.


	3. Chapter 3

_"A hero is somebody who voluntarily walks into the unknown." -Tom Hanks_

_Birds are chirping. Loudly. Quite loudly. One of them is pecking the window, even. The girl comes to a conclusion._

 

Birds are the spawn of hell.

I sit and stretch. It's my fifth day "home" and I've started to feel well-rested, which is a nice change of pace. Even if people keep calling me Peyton Wilson. According to "Mother" someone even announced my return on the radio, which I guess is a big deal or  _something_. More than anything, "home" is weird and I long to walk down onto Somerset, and I don't know why. But then again, I don't really think I know anything.

"Breakfast!"

On my way downstairs, I collide with Joseph. He's the type who stays up all night and sleeps in the day. I assume he's going to take a shower. "Morning," I say. He grabs my arm. No _"Morning, Peyton. Sleep well?  Good dreams?"_

"We have to talk."

"Do we?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. He glares at me. He glares at me in general though, so this is nothing new.

"I'm serious, Peyton." I clench my jaw. Why did he keep calling me that? Why did  _everyone_ keep calling me that? "Meet me in front of the library after breakfast, okay? It's important."

"Okay," I agree. "Fine. You're right, we do need to talk. But I'd appreciate it if you'd just answer my questions  _without_  all the secrecy. Because, this town is seriously screwed up and-"

Joseph puts a hand on my shoulder. "Library." Then he scowls at me one last time, before barging past me and walking out the front door. Apparently Joseph is too good for breakfast.

 

_They give her eggs and toast. She doesn't want to eat the toast, and nearly gags on it._

_The toast is all wrong._

 

When I'm done, I excuse myself to go get dressed, tell my so-called parents I'm heading out, and stroll outside. It's hot, too hot, and the sun is beating down on my back. I grin. I love the feeling of being stuck in an oven, I love the too-bright sky, I love the  _heat_. This feels like my home.

I start humming to myself. Walking down the street is strange. It’s like a path I’d almost forgotten. There are little memories of this road that I could never let go of, not in a million years, not when everything else had fallen through. I feel like a child, running down the blazing cement sidewalk. My home. My heart. My street.

 

_The running is all wrong._

 

People sit out on their porches, they trim their lawns and bike up and down the road. Some of them wave to me as I jog down the road towards the library. I wave back.

Dread watches over me as I reach the stone steps of the library, but then I look up and see a white, Grecian building with a sign reading _Desert Bluffs Public Library Outlet No. 2_ , and my heart flops weirder. I’m confused, but I don’t know why. Joseph is slouching against the wall in the shadows near the door. I walk up to him, wiping sweat off my forehead.

“Hey,” I say. He either nods or brushes some hair out of his eyes; I can’t really tell if he’s acknowledging me or not. “You said we had to talk, so... yeah. Here I am.” He flips some more hair out of his eyes. I look him up and down. He’s wearing a leather jacket, with tight jeans, and his hairs in need of a comb. He certainly has the badboy look down.

If I hadn’t heard him get up at three in the morning and stumble into the bathroom to gel his hair, I might be impressed.

“So you are,” Joseph replies, not looking at me. Bookish, thoughtful, greasy-haired badboy? Huh.

I narrow my eyes. “Then talk.”

“You first, _Peyton._ ”

“There’s something off about this place,” I tell him, almost automatically. “I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s wrong.”

“No it isn’t,” Joseph says, sounding annoyed. “It’s perfect.”

“Maybe to you. I like it, sure. Some of it’s, you know, _right_ , but then there’s stuff like this.”

“Like what?”

“The library. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

Joseph looks at me funny, and pulls out a box that says _Marlboros._ “This is an ideal city, Peyton.You’re just clinging to the past.”

“The past I _don’t remember._ Why _don’t_ I remember anything?”

Joseph shrugs, lights his cigarette, and sticks it in his mouth. “Because that’d be a safety hazard.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not trustworthy, Peyton. Experience has taught me that.”

“Well, I don’t see why I should trust you when you won’t tell me anything.” I give him a withering look. Joseph looks at me with a strange expression, and exhales a cloud of smoke.

“No,” he says after a moment, more to himself than me. “No. We’ve done this before. It ended badly.”

I stare at him, befuddled, before saying “Well, uh, um... Maybe it won’t this time?”

“You always say that, Peyton.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Always.”

 

_When he says her name, he says it special. It’s soft and sad and sweet._

_She can’t help but notice._

 

“I’m sorry,” I say in my most comforting voice. “But I refuse to go about life when I know something’s being kept from me. And when I know something’s wrong.”

He smiles, but doesn’t open his eyes. “And what will you do if I don’t give you the information you want?”

I frown and fold my arms. “Then I’ll find it!”

“And if you don’t?”

I think for a moment, before blurting out “Then I guess I can’t go about life then, can I?”

Joseph opens his eyes and stares at me.

 

_His eyes are open in a way they weren’t before. His pupils are black and endless._

_He’s thinking something through. She can see it._

 

“Fine,” he finally says, sighing out a cloud. “Fine. Tell me what you’ve figured out already and we’ll go from there.”

“Uh,” I think for a moment. “Er... I know you’re not my brother. And that the, um, people at the place that isn’t my home aren’t my family.”

“Okay, so nothing.”

I don’t like it when he talks down to me.

“That’s okay,” Joseph shrugs, and smiles a little. “I can’t very explain the entire town’s history, though... hmm...”

“Just my history will do.”

“No,” he frowns again. “No, you and this town. You’re tied together. You’re a part of it, and when you’re a part of this town, it’s a part of you too.”

“Oh.”

“But,” Joseph goes on. “There are... transcripts.”

“Transcripts?”

“Recordings, actually. From the radio station.”

I tilt my head. “What’s the radio station supposed to tell me? It’s just some lady named Lauren and a coworker going on and on about productivity and smiling gods and StrexCor-”

Joseph makes a weird sound, both a short little laugh and a shush. “I can see you’re not fond of it. Piece of advice, don’t talk that way about StrexCorp in the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area.”

“Well, I won’t talk about the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area either. The name’s too long.”

That time, Joseph actually does laugh, and then he grins at me.

 

_She smiles back._

_They don’t speak for a moment._

 

“Anyways,” Joseph finally says, shaking his head and continuing the conversation. “There were some people on before Lauren and Daniel.”

“Who?”

“Lauren used to work with someone else, but before then it was a guy named...” he pauses, as if testing me, clearly treading carefully. “Cecil Gershwin Palmer.”

“How fascinating,” I say drily. “Someone else I don’t know.”

“He was on the air for a long time, I think you’d be interested to hear what he has to say. I can download some of his shows for you. I don’t know which ones have the information you need though, so I’d have to give you a good chunk of them.”

“Fine.”

“That’s almost fifty shows.”

_“Fine_ ,” I snap. Then: “... how long are they?”

“About half an hour.”

“So... twenty five hours. I’ll just binge-listen.”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“It _is_ ,” I insist. Joseph could really get on my nerves.

“Well, alright then. I’ll bring them to you once they’re ready.”

“Soon?”

“I suppose.” He sticks the cigarette back in his mouth and stares up at the sky. “You should probably go home soon.”

“Oh, should I?”

“Well, Mom and Dad are supposed to know where you are twenty four hours a day.”

“I told them I was at the library.”

“Don’t take too much time,” Joseph instructs me, before putting his lit cigarette in his pocket and walking away. I watch him go.

And then I look at the library windows. There are people inside. Reading. Looking for books. More people stand behind the checkout, offering help. Are they supposed to be... librarians?

No, they can’t be.

“Something,” I say aloud, to the presence of smoke and the heat on the ground, “is _definitely_ off.”

And then I leave for the place that isn’t my home.


	4. Chapter 4

_"A hero has faced it all: he need not be undefeated, but he must be undaunted." -Andrew Bernstein_

This time it’s not the birds that gets me out of bed, it’s the knocking.

I open the door, see Joseph, and immediately wish I wasn’t in my pajamas with bed head.

“What is it?” I ask, probably sounding grouchy.

He lifts up a small MP3 player and a set of headphones, shaking them. “Forty six episodes. Over a day of audio. Happy not-your-birthday.”

“Seriously?” My jaw drops, and I grin, taking the MP3. “That was super-fast! Thank you!”

“Yeah, well, it was the least I could do. Don’t listen to them all at once though. We don’t want to damage your head.”

“I’ll be careful. Thank you so much!” I lean forward and hug him, and he pats my back awkwardly. “I’m gonna start listening right now!”

“Breakfast!” shouts the woman who isn’t my mother, but who might be Joseph’s.

“Okay,” I say, irritated. “I’m gonna start listening after breakfast. _Ungh_. Let’s go.”

“Um,” Joseph says. “Maybe you should leave those... up here.”

“Oh, right.” I set the MP3 and the headphones down on my desk and smile gratefully at him. “Thank. Seriously.”

“It was nothing.”

 

_The toast goes down easier this time._

_Once it’s all gone, she’s back in her room with her headphones in._

“A small desert community where the sun is hot,

the moon is beautiful,

and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.

Welcome

to Night Vale.”

“Wow,” _she breathes, and sighs happily. Night Vale. Now that sounds right_.

“Hello listeners. To start things off I’ve been asked to read this brief notice:

“The city council announces the opening of a new dog park at the corner of Earl and Somerset near the Ralph’s. They would like to remind everyone that dogs are not allowed in the dog park. People are not allowed in the dog park. It is possible you will see hooded figures in the dog park. Do not approach them. Do not approach the dog park. The fence is electrified and highly dangerous. Try not to look at the dog park, and especially do not look for any period of time at the hooded figures. The dog park will not harm you.

“And now the news.”

 

_On the show goes, onto Old Woman Josie and her angels, onto things that sound familiar, things she knows she should know, but that she doesn’t, things that come flooding back after she heard them. Of course the dog park was dangerous. Of course Big Rico’s was the best slice in town. Of course there was ghost cars on the highways. Alligators can always kill your children._

_She listens for ten hours before she finally falls asleep._

 

“Peyton? Hey, are you awake? _Peyton?_ ”

I crack upon an eye. “Ungh? Joseph? What?”

“You look exhausted. How many shows did you go through?”

I moan and hide my head under a pillow. “I dunno, like, twenty? Desert Bluffs is creepy and I don’t like Kevin. Do Carlos and Cecil ever date?” I lift up the pillow to look at him. “Why are you smiling at me? Is that a yes?”

“No one likes Kevin,” he grins, and since I don’t get what’s so funny, I put the pillow back down and stare up at darkness.

“Is Street-Cleaning Day still a thing?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You sound upset.”

“I dunno. What about the Glow Cloud? And the Shape in Grove Park?”

“You’ll see.”

“Why’s Cecil off the air? I like him a lot more than stupid Lauren and David or whatever his name is.”

“Don’t say that or bad things will happen to you.”

I lift up the pillow and stare at him. He isn’t kidding. “Okay.” I hide my face again and roll over. “Can you pass me my headphones?”

“No, Breakfast is ready. In fact, it was ready fifteen minutes ago.”

I make a “nygug” sound and stand up. Joseph smirks. “What?”

“Your hair. It looks... exciting.”

I scowl at him before turning to my mirror and wincing. I comb through it with my fingers until it just looks like it needs a brush, then I follow Joseph down the stairs. He heads out the door, and I go into the dining room.

“Did you sleep well, dear?” asks the one who isn’t my mother. The one who isn’t my father is reading a newspaper.

 

_The newspaper is wrong._

 

“I made pancakes!” not-my-mother says when I don’t reply, and sets down a plate. I sit and eat them quietly, wincing every few bites.

 

_The pancakes are all wrong._

 

“So,” not-mother asks me. “Do you have any plans for the day?”

“Uh, I was just gonna, um, maybe go for a walk?”

“That doesn’t seem very productive, dear. You could stop by the Company Picnic.”

“Oh. Uh...” _The what?_ I thought. “Tht sounds fun, but I... I think I’ll just work on some stuff in my room.”

“If you say so, dear.”

“Okay. Thanks for breakfast... Mom.”

“That reminds me.” She turns to not-my-father and does a little laugh. “Steve Carlsberg, down the street, he was wondering if he could come over for dinner sometime, and I just didn’t know what to say!”

On my list of things I didn’t like about not-my-parents was the small, condescending little laugh in not-my-mother’s voice when she talked about neighbors, specifically Steve Carlsberg. It didn’t help that whenever his name came up, I got an overwhelming sense of deja vu.

“Hmm,” says not-my-father.

“That sounds fun,” I say uselessly.

“Oh, no it doesn’t, dear,” not-my-mother says. “He’s an odd one. He and his wife life right near the dog park, which is _so_ suspicious, and they’re just not right in the head since the- you know, and all the renovations have put _so_ much stress on his wife, I’m quite sure she’s lost her mind, poor thing. And ever since their family disappeared-”

“Disappeared?” I interrupt. She’s being annoying, of course, but I don’t mind getting some information. She picks up my plate and takes it over to the sink.

“Oh, yes!” she says eagerly. “Their daughter vanished about six years ago, it was _dreadful_ , the whole town went wild looking for her, but she was gone. Just like Tamika Flynn.” She sighs with some overdramatic-pity before continuing. “And just over a year before that her uncle went missing, too. I guess all that tragedy was just too much to bear, but I _always_ said, that Cecil’s just not quite right in the head, and if you let Janice spend too much time around him-”

“Cecil?” Not-my-mother is now washing the dishes, scrubbing vigorously.

“Yes, Cecil Palmer! He used to do all the radio broadcasts, before his went missing. He was always hanging around that strange scientist, and his niece, and I said to his sister, I said _I know he’s family but he’s funny, you shouldn’t let him near your daughter_ but she wouldn’t have any of it! Can you believe her?” she sighs again, pausing to stare out the window in sadness, before resuming her washing. “You know, you could help me sweetie. I suppose she learned her lesson in the end.”

“But...” I stand up and cross over to dry off the dishes. “What- what happened to them?”

“No one can really be sure, can they? That’s how disappearances work, isn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if the Sheriff’s Secret Police were involved, or that vague yet menacing government agency... but they haven’t been around so much since the renovations. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was of their own accord, really. Cecil always did seem like the type to just- wander off. And say Janice goes looking for him one day, and the desert _is_ a dangerous place, especially for a nine year old. Personally, I think that’s the most likely. In fact, I can easily see Cecil leaving and then just coming back a year later, grabbing Janice and leaving, he never did support the renovations, and he’d probably think he was doing her a favor.” She sniffs loudly, and I look over in surprise to see a tear slipping down her cheek. She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “Poor little Janice. She couldn’t walk. She was such a sweetheart, but she couldn’t walk. Never let it faze her. I remember once, when Joseph was about- oh, I think he was ten- she came over with Cecil, and he may have been odd, but he was certainly goodhearted. Most of the time, anyway. She was only eight, and they were going around the street selling her Girl Scout Cookies, and they were in a bit of a panic since they only had a day left to sell them all and she hadn’t sold a single box. Everyone had already bought their cookies from the other girls, but it was still so sweet, watching them go door-to-door, with her and her wheelchair, and Cecil pulling her little red wagon. She never did let anyone push her. And none of the stairs ever intimidated her, that little girl would have crawled if she had too. Nothing could faze her.” She sniffs again. “Oh, there goes my mascara. Poor, sweet little Janice.” She looks down and starts to scrub again, like a demon from hell has lodged itself on her already spotless plate. “It was different back in those days. You might not remembers, but the Cardinals were right across the street, and Earl Harlan was Joseph’s Scout Master, then there were the Carlsbergs, oh! and Pamela, before she was the mayor, and Jane, we’d have the most wonderful dinner parties. The Flynns came over sometimes, too, I never was fond of Tamika, but you always liked her. And the Wallabys! Such kind people, their daughter was certainly strange, but- oh, look at me.” She sniffs a third time and stares down into the sink. “Getting all sentimental. You probably don’t think very highly of me right now, do you? Well, it’s no use getting worked up over, it’s all over and done with now. And darling Janice and Cecil are dead by absentia. Oh, I can finish up here, you run along and get started on your work. Then you can have a nice, productive day!”

I nod, thank her, and hurry back upstairs and into my room. I’d liked talking to her (or rather, her talking to me) about the good old days. It sounded like Janice would’ve been about my age. I would’ve loved to meet her.

 

_She is dead by absentia._

 

I turn the MP3 player on and put in my headphones, then I sit against the door so no one can get in and listen.

 

“There’s a thin, semantic line separating weird and beautiful,

and that line is covered in jellyfish. 

Welcome to Night Vale.”

 

I smile. Good old Cecil. He is strange, yes, but there’s no voice as comforting as his.

 

_There’s a whispering forest. A mayor._

 

I cry during the twenty-fifth episode, but I have to bite my tongue so I don’t cheer out loud at the end.

 

_A faceless old woman._

 

My finger hovers over the next show. It’s titled, _First Date._

 _Oh my god,_ I think. _Oh my freaking god, it can’t be, it can’t be-_

 

“And then let’s move right into the most exciting news, the most wonderful news!

“As you may remember, a few weeks ago, along with the beginning of a vicious war against us by _tiny_ people, from a _tiny_ underground city, Carlos—

 the beautiful scientist—  finally returned my expressions of affection. 

And not in that dry science way he always used to use, saying things like, “I’m not calling for personal reasons, I need to tell your radio audience about a strange hole that might appear in their wall.”

Oh yeah, I forgot — there’s a strange hole that might appear in your wall.”

 

I almost scream. So, Cecil and Carlos are _going out on a date?_

With only twenty or so episodes left, I don’t see what could go wrong. It took a year for the tiny-city mystery to be solved, and for Carlos to ask Cecil out, so I really couldn’t see how something major could happen in that time, especially if it hadn’t shown up yet. I just couldn’t think of anything extreme enough to change an entire town. What _renovations_ had not-my-mother been referring to? Was it the City Council? The vague, yet menacing, government agency? Personally, I trust the Sheriff’s Secret Police (as a little part of me knows I’m supposed to) but I _didn’t see what could’ve twisted this town so much._

Non-vicious, helpful librarians? Wheat at breakfast? No bloodstone chants?

But a few episodes later, the knots started to... unravel.

Dana showed up, which was good, but then the yellow helicopters came, and things became... clearer.

StrexCorp. I don’t like or trust them, even though I know I’m supposed to. They took Tamika and they _took Night Vale_ and I don’t like them at all!

With a sense of doom, I finish the recordings.

And then I cry.


	5. Chapter 5

“ _Hard times don't create heroes. It is during the hard times when the 'hero' within us is revealed._ _”_  -Bob Riley

This time, I tell Joseph that I need to talk.

 

_“Same place, same time?”_

 

_“Now.”_

We don’t eat breakfast. Rather, we walk down the street in our pajamas, towards the dog park.

“Okay. So, I get it now. I really do. Cecil used to be in charge of the old station, more or less, and the City Council ran the town, but then StrexCorp started buying up companies, and suddenly _they_ overpowered the Council, and _they_ were in charge of everything, and next thing you know the whole place has been _renovated_ and that ass Kevin’s replaced Cecil and everything _sucks._ ”

“No, it doesn’t,” Joseph says. “I think Strex is great. Cecil didn’t, so he villainized it. He was that sort of person.”

“Oh,” I say coldly. “Was he?”

“Just listen to the way he talks about Steve Carlsberg.”

I snort. “Everyone talks about him that way.” 

Joseph does his short little laugh. “Okay, true.”

“Even if Strex isn’t _that_ bad,” I contiue reasoning. “They’ve kind of... kidnapped people. Like Tamika. You can argue for Cecil and Carlos, but they _definitely_ took her. And Kevin _killed_ some people.”

“There’s no proof of that, but he probably did.”

“Yeah. So, sorry if I don’t approve, but I _don’t_. I like the old Night Vale.”

“But,” Joseph says, a spark of defiance in his eye. _“Why?_ You can say StrexCorp is bad, but right now, your reasons for their supposed-” he makes air quotes with his hands and says _“-villainy_ , but those are all things that happened in old Night Vale, too. The Secret Police took people all the time. And so did the vague-”

“Fine. I guess,” I twist my hands around, grasping onto my fingers thoughtfully. “I guess I just _liked_ it. There was something friendly about all the bad stuff, you know?”

“Cecil just makes it sound that way.”

“Maybe. But I _know_ it. It’s like I remember it, even though I don’t. That probably sounds totally crazy, but it feels like... home, or something. Like, my old preschool, and I come back as an adult, and it’s like, _I remember that, I remember that,_ even though I don’t really. I just remember little things.”

“Like what?”

“Like, that dog park, and that house, and so on. Little things. The way they looked. That’s it.”

“I never remember things that way.”

“Really?”

“No. Whenever I remember things it’s always straightforward, like I’m picking through papers, going through a filing cabinet. It’s all in there. Sometimes it’s too deep for me to find it, but I know it’s in there, so I just have to say ‘it’s there, but I can’t find it.’ That probably sounds stupid, since it’s exactly the same as yours, but-”

“But different?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” I say, “Life is like that. I have a question for you. It’s more of a statement, really.”

“State away.”

I twirl my hands around each other some more, thinking hard. Did I trust Joseph or not?

“I want to find Cecil.”

He stares at me for a moment.

“Peyton, he’s dead.”

“By absentia!” I pull my hands apart, gesturing wildly. “I looked it up, after I finished the broadcasts! It means they’ve been missing long enough that, even though there’s no proof they’re dead, there’s just no proof they’re alive, so they’re _legally_ decreed dead. He could still be alive!”

“Where?”

“Somewhere! I don’t know. It all depends on whether or not StrexCorp took him. I think they did, so that’ll make looking for him easier.”

“I see.”

“I just need to know where they’d put a prisoner. I think they might have Janice too, but I’m not really sure. Basically, I need _you_ to tell me where to look.”

_“Me?”_

“Yes! And then I won’t need _anything_ else. Well, I want to know Carlos’s last name and possible contact info, but it’s not as pressing.”

“Okay, fine. But this is the _last_ information I’m giving you.”

He gives me a very serious look.

“What?”

“Are you _positive_ that’s the information you want?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Now _tell_ me!”

“ _Fine.”_

“You don’t need to be grumpy.”

He glares at me, then he smiles at me. “Okay. Tomorrow?”

“I guess. I mean, whenever you can.”

“Alright,” he says slowly. “If that’s what you want.”

“Joseph, _it’s what I want._ ”

“Right. Okay.”

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to get me to change my mind!”

“I’m not! Never mind.”

We stop, facing the black walls of the dog park. I think about Dana. I think about Cecil and Carlos. Joseph leaves.

I think about Joseph.

And me.

And then I think about Joseph and me.

 

_They don’t see each other again for awhile._

_He doesn’t give her what she wants face to face._

_He just slips a package under the door._


	6. Chapter 6

_"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer."_ -Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

I’ve reviewed the packet of information about a dozen times. I know the exact location of the prison. I know the exact location of Cecil. And I know that Joseph was lying when he told me Cecil was dead. Because the folder he gave me states, quite clearly, that Cecil is alive and a prisoner of StrexCorp.

What I don’t know is why the only information for Carlos is a note in the margin. Quite specifically, an email address and a phone number. And though I’ve been looking through all the other information all day, I haven’t worked up the nerve to call the number yet.

Now, though, I’m considering it.

I’d figured it would be a lot less scary for me to just send him an email, but if it wasn’t _really_ Carlos’s it would be all to easy to figure out who had sent the email, but it would be a lot harder to trace a phone call. And then I’d be able to tell if I was really talking to him.

I didn’t want to, but I figured the only place I could call from was not-my-mother’s home phone. I don’t like it, and I don’t want to put not-my-family in danger, but it makes the most sense.

I’m the only one home, so it’s easy to take the phone upstairs and call the number.

The phone rings.

And then, someone picks up.

_“Hello?”_

I snap, sitting straight up, staring at nothing in front of me. _It’s his voice. I recognize his voice._

“H-h-hell...” I clear my throat. “Hi. Is this... Carlos?”

_“Yes?”_

“The Scientist?”

_“Uh... yes? Can I help you?”_

“H-hi, my name is Peyton Wilson, and I’m, uh, um, calling from Night Vale and-”

Even though I can’t see him, I can easily imagine his jaw going slack as I trail off, and I can easily hear a frosted silence in the air.

_“Did you just say... Night Vale?”_

“Er... yes.”

_“You’re in... Night Vale?”_

“Well, the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area, but, yeah, I, uh, I live in Night Vale, and I’m, uh- I want it to be called Night Vale again? So I was looking for some people who could help, you know, take back the city and-”

_“How did you get this number?!”_

I freeze. There’s something... weird in his voice. Something I’d never heard on the broadcasts. Fear? Anxiety? _Anger._

He doesn’t sound like the Carlos I’ve constructed in my head.

“I, um, I have a friend who managed to-”

_“Who? Who gave it to you?”_

My eyes widen and I stare at the wall in front of me. “C-C-C... Car... sir. I don’t think you understand. Night Vale needs your-”

_“Listen! You need to tell me how you-”_

“No!” I say. It comes out fiercer than I intend. “ _You_ listen. This city is- is- it’s been _fucked_ , and everyone that could’ve made a difference is _gone_ or _losing it,_ and I’m the _only one_ whose actually trying to do something. And now, I _finally’ve_ contacted Carlos, the _brilliant_ scientist, Night Vale’s greatest hero, and you’re _freaking out_ about how I did it? Does it even matter? You know what _does_ matter? The fact that Cecil’s in _prison_ , and that _your_ city is _dying_ and _no one is realizing._ So _I’m_ going to ask the questions, okay? And you’re gonna tell me what I want, and you’re gonna _help me_ , and I _swear to God,_ I _don’t_ need you to save this city. I _don’t_. But I’ve _decided_ to let you help it, and help me, and this is an _honor_ , so you’re gonna _do it,_ okay?!”

 

_Silence on the line._

_She doesn’t know where that came from._

“Who are you?!”

_“People call me Peyton. And you’re gonna fucking listen to me.”_

“... Ask away.”

 

“I want to know where you are.”

_“I’m in New York.”_

“New York _city?_ ”

_“... Yeah.”_

“Why?”

_“I...”_

And just like that, his voice changes. All the anger, resentment, concern, fear... _gone._ He’s just sad.

_“I live here.”_

“That so?”

_“Yes... I... I’m working at a great facility, I-”_

“I don’t want to hear it,” I snap. “What I want to hear about is _how_ you got there and how long you’re planning on staying.”

_“Well, I... I moved here. A few years ago. Maybe... six? Seven? Something around that.”_

“After the StrexCorp takeover.”

 _“I-”_ He starts to defend himself, then stops. _“Yeah. That’s right. And I guess... until I have to move for some reason.”_

“Uh huh,” I practically snarl, then I change the subject. “Moving on. Are you, or are you not, willing to help Night Vale?”

_“...”_

“Are you?!”

_“I... I want to.”_

“So _will you?_ ”

“I- I can’t come back.”

“More like you _won’t_. Regardless, are you gonna help from the Big Apple, or are you gonna sit on your ass feeling sorry for yourself?”

_“... I can help.”_

“Damn right you can. I want weapons. I don’t care what kind, all I care about is that they can take down Stex, and take down their Smiling God. Think you can handle it?”

_“... I’ll try. I- can I get your email? To contact you about it?”_

“Fine,” I say, and give him my email. “Don’t call this number, email only for now.” Thus, I make the decision to get a cell phone.

_“... Okay.”_

“Hey, you wanna know something funny, Carlos? I’m talking to some folks, about StrexCorp and the like and they tell me oh, they’re not that bad, Cecil just villain-ized, he just hated them, he wasn’t the best judge of character. I’ve heard that whenever I bring him up. He was weird, he didn’t get people, he _wasn’t a good judge of character._ That’s what my best friend in the God-forsaken town told me, and you wanna know something _really weird?_ He was right. But he and Strex weren’t the ones who showed me that.”

_“Peyton-”_

“And do you know what the most _messed-up_ part about that is? He didn’t misjudge the evil company or the creepy people. Nah, he misjudged the person closest to him, the _one_ person he really-truly _loved_ , and that he probably thought he knew best.”

 

_Dead silence._

 

“ _That’s_ who he was wrong about.”

I hang up.


	7. Chapter 7

_“A hero is someone who, in spite of weakness, doubt or not always knowing the answers, goes ahead and overcomes anyway.”_ -Christopher Reeve

_She plots and she plans._

The desert is really... hot. Which is a lame observation. But the desert is actually a _lot_ hotter than town is, maybe because there aren’t any buildings for shade, but for whatever reason, I’m _boiling_ like I’m stuck in an over. I’m gonna be _so_ sunburnt when this is all over and done with.

I’ve packed a backpack an operation-escape-prison bag. In the backpack is a camera, a cheap cell phone, my laptop, a _big_ bottle of water (and another two), four apples, beef jerky, a bag of cookies, a large, tarp-like blanket, and the folder of information Joseph gave me, which I’ve added to. It now also contains not-my-family’s home phone number, Carlos’s contact info, a map of Night Vale and surrounding areas, a compass, my glasses, sunglasses, sunscreen, bug spray, headphones, an army knife, money, my MP3, and a notebook and writing utensils (very illegal). In short, it’s everything I’m going to need, regardless of how the mission goes. In the bag are boltcutters, a carefully-copied folder identical to the one in my backpack (minus the added info), paper clips and bobby-pins, a kitchen knife I “borrowed” from not-my-mother, a file, a small shovel, and a decent-sized map of the prison. I’m watching it through binoculars. I’ve been watching for over a day, almost two, surviving on apples and cookies, and I’ve gotten the hang of the guard shifts.

I’m wearing a milirary-style jacket with camouflage jeans and combat boots, so of course I’m burning up. But no one can see me; I’m far away enough that I look like a bush. They don’t see me, no, but I see them perfectly.

A jeep drives over the desert, towards the facility, and enters. Perfect. It was like this yesterday. Another one should show up in ten minutes. I sprint towards the dirt road and hide behind a cactus, checking my watch. The next car comes, right on time, boxes strapped into place, and then passes.

I hold my breath and count, then look. They’re farther away. But not too far away. Good.

I take off after them, slide under, roll over, and scramble to grab onto the bottom of the jeep. I manage to scratch my knees, my back, and my hands. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I almost didn’t make it. The car is moving fast, and shaking on the rough road. I grit my teeth, and let go with one hand and one foot, struggling to turn around.

I tried this last night on a hunch. I failed. I didn’t even get on the car.

This time, though, I make it around, so I’m facing the opposite direction of the jeep, then I pull myself up so that I’m almost in a sitting position, except I’m clinging to a car hurtling through the desert, and I’m not sitting on anything. My stomach is burning.

We’re getting closer to the facility. I can’t see it, but I know.

I let go with one hand, and start swiping at the bungee cord keeping the boxes down. I hit and paw and finally, it comes undone.

I drop down and twist uncomfortably, so that the camera examining the car doesn’t pick me up. Then the car keeps moving, towards the inside of the facility, where there are more cameras. I watch, and the camera turns away to watch the desert.

I move up and, with perfect timing, grab a box. We both tumble onto the road as the doors close over the facility, the car disappearing from view. Another one falls on top of me.

I sigh with relief and lie on the ground for only a second. The air has been knocked out of me.

Then I stand, slowly. The camera is still facing away. If I can just get around the corner, there’ll be a blind spot. Quietly, I pick up one of the boxes, and then I inch around the corner, not breathing. When I make it, I let out a massive sigh, and sit down.

I want to save Cecil, but I’ve _got_ to know what’s in these boxes. Is it the miniature city?

I dig my nails under the lid and try to pry it open. Then I give in and smash the lid with bolt cutters.

... It’s food.

I sigh with hunger. I haven’t eaten too much, since I know there’s no way Cecil (and anyone else I find) and I can just go back to Night Vale, not right away, and we’ll have to eat something. That’s why I shoved food into my backpack. And why I refrained from eating it.

I grab one of the packages of food, rip it open, and take a huge bite. Then I spit it out. It tastes terrible. I look at the name. StrexCorp NutraLoaf. It’s _disgusting._ I turn back and root through the bag, finding mostly NutraLoaf, before finally getting through what must be the prisoner’s food and into the employee’s meals. I pull out a tupperware case of cold mashed potatoes and eat them with my hands. Then I shove a cardboard box with a microwaveable pizza into my backpack, and since there’s room, I add three cases of NutraLoaf. I don’t know how hungry we’re going to get. Then I find a bar of chocolate and _eat._

I’m just about to dig into a bag of freeze-dried ice cream, the kind people sell as “astronaut food,” when I hear a click. I freeze and look up. A young man dressed in a yellow jumpsuit is pointing a gun at my head.

“Don’t move,” he says.

I widen my eyes, and wipe away some of the chocolate on my mouth. My lip trembling.

“P-p-please,” I stammer. “I was so hungry, I didn’t know what to do, I have no idea where I am, I’m so sorry...”

He frowns at me, and lowers his gun slightly. “You’ve got ten seconds to explain yourself before I blow your brains out.”

I start to cry, just a little. “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know who I am, I just started walking and I got here, and I was so hungry, and one of the boxes fell off a car and I opened it and there was food and I was just so hungry, I, I, I-” I collapse into a puddle of tears, and sympathy flickers through the man’s eyes. He lowers his gun a little bit more.

I jump up and hit him over the head with my bag. He falls over and I jump on top of him and pull out the bolt cutters.

His eyes go wide. “Wait a minute, you’re-”

I don’t have time for this. I hit him over the head, and out he goes.

“Thanks,” I mutter, putting the bolt cutters away. “You’ve been quite helpful.”

I put on his jumpsuit, and then his utility belt. They’re both much to big. The suit sags on me, and the belt is slipping down my butt. So I take off the jumpsuit, then I put the belt back on and tighten it. Once I’m comfy, I put his suit back on, and drag him along with me as I head for the employee door. Good thing he gave me his ID.

I lift up his body, place his hand over the card slot, and swipe it. The screen calls for his thumbprint. I press his hand to it. Then I duck behind him.

The camera turns toward us, then swivels away, and the door opens.

I let out my biggest sigh yet, and me and the guard enter the employee break room. I sit him down on a chair, and _then_ I steal a uniform. It’s one that fits me, off the hooks by the door. I look through a card with high clearance (shown by a golden stamp shaped like a sun), and then I head into the facility. I’ve examined my map in all my free time. I’ve practically memorized the layout of this place.

I slow down, and walk towards the place I know I’ll find Cecil. Past locked rooms and hallways. I don’t know where the files are, or who else is here. I don’t have that information. All I know is where Cecil is, and which ways we can get out.

I stroll up to the door of Solitary Confinement and slide my stolen ID through the machine. I hear something make a click, and then it asks for my fingerprint. 

I smash it with the bolt cutters, and then I hit the door. It opens.

And in I stroll. I look through the cells as I pass- I want to know who else is here. But they’re all empty.

Finally, I reach the number I’m looking for. There’s another place for me to swipe my ID, and a giant lock on the door.

I inhale, and then I stand up on my tippy-toes and look into the cell. It’s dark, and I can’t see past a few feet into it.

“Hello?” I ask, softly. And something moves. They move slowly, a shadow standing up, and shuffling across the cell, approaching the door cautiously.

“Hello?” he asks back, and I know it’s _him_.

He comes into view. He looks just like I imagined him, but with longer, less-in-control hair, extremely pale, and a lot more shadows under his eyes. But then again, he has been in prison for over six years.

“What do you want?” he asks after a moment, looking at me warily. There’s a spark of defiance in his eyes. My heart twists.

Oh, I realize. I love him. Not romantically, not physically, I just _love_ him. In the small amount of time since I’ve first heard his voice, I have loved Cecil Gershwin Palmer. Makes sense.

“I’m here to rescue you,” I whisper, and his eyes widen. He falls agains the door, grabs the bars, and looks me dead in the eye.

“But- you work here?”

“Stole the uniform. I’m a _huge_ fan, by the way, this is really a- um, I came to rescue you. I live in Night Vale. And we need to save it. So I decided to break you out.”

“Th-thank you.” He looks shocked.

“You’re very, very welcome. Now-”

He squints at me. “Have we met before?”

“I dunno. I don’t think so. But maybe. I don’t really know anything about my life. Anyways, can you step back from the door?”

“Oh, sure.” He takes a huge step back, almost disappearing back into the darkness, and I slide the ID through the slot. It calls for a fingerprint. I smash it, then I cut away the lock at the door and hit it with my bolt cutters. It falls open, and Cecil stares at me in bemused relief.

“You were serious... ?”

“Obviously. Now get out before an alarm goes off or something. Stay quiet and calm.”

He scrambles out, and we head for the door. I reach the door, and we’re about to leave.

And then, I hear something.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“ _A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself._ _” -_ Joseph Campbell

“Did you hear that?!” Cecil asks, sounding terrified. He’s adorable when he’s terrified.

“I did,” I say. “Don’t panic. Are there any other prisoners in this area?”

“Uh, I don’t know, I-”

Then I hear another sound, a creaking one, and a voice hisses, _“I’m over here! Guys! Look over here!”_

I turn around, and see someone struggling to stick their arms out through the bars of another cell. “Hey, there’s someone over there.”

“Really?”

_“Guys! Help! It’s dark and there’s nothing to do!”_

Cecil’s face goes slack. The voice sounds familiar. I head towards the cell.

 _“No,”_ Cecil grabs my arm. “We can’t help him.”

“Hey!” whoever’s-in-the-cell says. “I heard that! If you don’t get me out, I’ll- I’ll- I’ll scream! And Lauren will come and arrest you _both_!” In a second, their voice goes from whiny to pleading. _“Please_! You’ve got to let me out! There is _nothing_ for me to do in here and it’s _so unproductive_ and I-”

“Oh,” I say, recognizing the voice. “It’s him.”

Kevin presses his face up against the bars of the cell. “Come _on_ , I will _scream_ , and they’ll _all_ come and arrest you! All of them! And then who’ll save you?”

“Wow,” I say, squinting at him. “Your eyes are creepy.” They’re all black, and shiny, like a bug’s eyes, except they’re not. They’re human eyes. I look over at Cecil. “He looks just like you.”

“He does _not_! Come on, we need to get out.”

Kevin opened his mouth wide.

“He’s totally gonna scream,” I say. “The door’s open, so they’ll hear him. We’ve got to let him out.”

“I like you!” Kevin says, with annoying enthusiasm.

“I dislike you,” I say, and then I scan my ID, smash the device, cut the lock, and open the door, nearly hitting him. He jumps back, before hurrying out of the cell.

“Thanks!” he says cheerfully, offering his hand. I don’t shake it.

“Be quiet,” I tell him sternly. “Don’t make a _single_ sound or I’ll cut your neck off with these.” I put the bolt cutters away. “Now, both of you, act casual. Like we’re walking in a park.”

Cecil opens his mouth.

“A _normal_ , legal park. Let’s go.”

Kevin nods eagerly, and Cecil scowls at him, and then I turn and leave Solitary Confinement. They follow.

“I don’t want to be a spoilsport,” Kevin says after a moment, “But there’s a guard following us.”

“Move,” I say. I pull the gun out of my utility belt, turn around, and shoot the guard just as Kevin and Cecil move. He collapses, and the shock from the shot causes me to do the same.

“Great shot, cupcake.”

I stare at the guard laying on the ground, and pick myself up.

“Did I get him?” I ask.

“You did,” Kevin nods. “That’s why I said ‘great shot, cupca-’”

“But did I _get_ him?” I ask, looking to Cecil.

“I- I’m not sure.”

I exhale loudly and stand up. My legs are shaking and my hands ache.

“Okay,” I say, mostly to myself. “We keep going.”

So we do. I have to shoot two other guards before, to Cecil’s protests, I give the gun to Kevin. “If you see someone coming, shoot them.”

“Cool!”

“He’s going to _shoot us_ ,” Cecil whispers into my ear once we’re moving again.

“Possibly,” I say. “But I don’t want to shoot someone else. If you want to shoot all the guards, be my guest.”

 _“Bang bang!”_ There’s a shot, and Kevin squeals. He starts jumping up and down, clapping. “I got her!”

Cecil harrumphs, and we keep going. And I keep hearing Kevin shout _“Bang bang,”_ and laugh as someone falls over. It makes me feel sick.

Cecil bends over again a few corridors later. “What did you say your name was?”

“I dunno. Supposedly it’s Peyton Wilson.”

“Well, thank you for saving me. I don’t trust your judgement in the _slightest_ ,” he pauses to look back at Kevin, “But I’m very grateful.”

“Why, thank you. You know, I started to tell you earlier but I was busy rescuing you- I’m a _big_ fan, Mr. Palmer, sir. Really big. Like, you’re my idol. I really love your radio shows.”

Cecil looks shocked, then he turns red, and he starts to say something.

“Bang bang!” shouts Kevin, and there’s a click, followed by frantic clicking. We both turn to look at him. A guard is approaching, pulling out a radio, and Kevin is repeatedly squeezing the trigger. “Uh. Uh, guys, guys, I’m out of bullets-”

Red lights start to flash, and alarms sound. I grab their hands. “Come on!”

 

_Off they go._

 

“This way!” I start to turn a corner, only to see guards rushing towards us. “Never mind, this way!” I yank them down the hall, and I can almost feel my perfect memorization of the hallways trickling away. _Dammit_ , I think, and search my head for the nearest exit. “Kevin! Which way?”

“I dunno!” he says excitedly. “This is _fun!_ ”

 

_She doesn’t hesitate, and she makes a split-second decision._

_They take off running._

_They don’t look back._

_Well, she doesn’t._

 

“How many are there?”

“I count fifteen!”

“Kevin, still got the gun?”

“Yeah!”

I rummage through the belt as I run, then toss a case of bullets behind my back. “Then _reload_!”

Kevin squeaks loudly, stumbles to catch it, and reloads as we run. “There are only ten in here!”

“Just shoot them, I’ll think of something!”

There was a brief, pause, then Kevin shouts, “But I already thought of something!” and Cecil says something I can’t quite make out. I whirl around. Kevin’s stopped. We both freeze and turn to watch him as he faces the guards.

“I,” he says, a bit dramatically. “Surrender.” Then Cecil yells loudly as Kevin grabs him in a chokehold. “Just kidding! I don’t.”

“Kevin!” I scream, and pull out my bolt cutters. “Let go of-”

“If you come any closer I’m gonna shoot them and then me and then you’ll _never_ know how we got out _ever_ and you can’t stop this from happening again!”

I lower the bolt cutters and stare at him. Wow. Kevin’s smart.

“ _But_ ,” Kevin says, “If you let us go we’ll probably send you a detailed explaining how we got out. And then you can make this place impenetrable!”

Wow. Kevin’s kinda-sorta-not-really-smart.

I start looking for more bullets.

The guards start to look at each other, murmuring. They’re considering their options.

“Hey,” I whisper. “I think I found a- it’s a taser.”

“Give it to me!” Cecil yelps, and Kevin frowns at him.’

“Can you be quiet while I save your life?”

“You’re _strangling me_!”

“Oh, sorry.” Kevin loosens his grip and Cecil glares at him. I give him the taser and pull out my kitchen knife, putting the bolt cutters away.

“Attention,” I say to no one in particular. “We are now _all_ armed.”

One of the guards throws something at us. I’m expecting a grenade or something, but it’s a radio. I pick it up.

“Our boss wants to talk to you,” of of the guards calls. I pick up the radio.

“Talk,” I command. There’s silence. And then another familiar voice comes in over the radio.

_“Listen, sweetie, I-”_

I don’t let her finish. I’m too busy making gag faces. Then I turn to Kevin and Cecil. “It’s Lauren.”


	9. Chapter 9

“ _In any story, the villain is the catalyst. The hero's not a person who will bend the rules or show the cracks in his armor. He's one-dimensional intentionally, but the villain is the person who owns up to what he is and stands by it._ ” -Marilyn Manson

At the sound of Lauren’s name, Kevin’s smile- which had been present almost the _whole_ time we’d been escaping- disappeared. He dropped Cecil, who fell, and grabbed the radio.

 _“We are not negotiating with you!”_ he screams, and then drops the radio and shoots it.

Cecil stands up and glares at Kevin again.

The guards start to advance on us, and then I hit the jackpot. Whoever’s uniform I stole had left three more bullets in their pockets. I pull them out and shove them into Kevin’s hands, then I wield my knife and Cecil brandishes his taser.

“Shoot,” I say. “You’ll have... twelve bullets? That leaves three of them and three of us. We can take ‘em.”

“They have guns too, though.” Cecil says as Kevin starts reloading the gun and firing. They all start either firing back or retreating.

“Keep shooting, Kevin. While running. Run.”

We take off again, Kevin firing off bullets. I start rummaging through my pockets. If I find three more bullets- bam. We’re out.

Kevin screams loudly. “There are _more_!”

I swear, and I’m about to give up so we can go die horribly or get interrogated or something, then a miracle happens. I recognize something.

I snatch Kevin and Cecil’s hands and pull them through a doorway. I slam the door shut and flip the lock over. Then I drag a chair over and place it in front of it.

“Where are we?” Cecil asks.

“The employee break room,” I say, and I tear off the stupid yellow jumpsuit. The guard I left here earlier is just starting to awaken. I hit him over the head again, and leave him and another chair in front of the door. Then I find some more bullets, and throw them to Kevin. “That should hold them. Let’s go.” I run for the other door and open it. Sunlight washes over us. Both Kevin and Cecil make repulsed shrieking sounds and cover their eyes.

“Oh,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Right. Long term confinement. No light. Uh... Just follow me.” I grab their hands again and run. “And, uh, try not to-”

They both fall over.

“Hey,” Kevin says, facedown in the sand. “I think my eyes are adjusting!”

Doors to the prison snap open, and guards come rushing out.

“Great, ‘cause they’re coming. Let’s go.”

They stand up, shakily, and stumble after me as I run. I hear popping sounds, and bullets come whizzing by.

“Zigzag!” I shout to them over the sound of gunshots. “It’s harder to hit a moving target!”

 _“I literally cannot see anything!”_ Cecil shouts.

“I don’t care! Run!”

I hold onto them tightly as I dash across the desert sands in a scrambled lines.

“ _Now_ my eyes are adjusted!” Kevin says, blinking. Then he screams and falls over to avoid running into a cactus. Cecil sniggers, and then he does the same thing.

I nearly pick them up before I start running again. I’m just beginning to think that we won’t make it, when it happens.

A door appears in front of us. I nearly slam into it as I come to a sudden stop, and Cecil and Kevin, whose vision must still be adjusting, do.

“Ow,” Kevin moans, rubbing his head. Cecil scowls.

“That’s a door,” I say.

“How clever of you.”

“Omigosh!” Kevin says. “Don’t those lead to a desert otherworld?”

“Do they,” Cecil mutters. Then his eyes widen. “Carlos went through one of those! We have to check it out!”

Kevin opens his mouth, and I step on his knee.

“And Dana,” I say. “She’s in the otherworld too.”

“And there are people shooting us!” Kevin adds. “I say we go through!”

“I concur,” Cecil agrees.

“I also agree,” I say. “Stand up and let’s go.” I reach forward and open the door, revealing a dark desert.

“Wait,” Kevin says. “If we all go in how do we get out? The door’ll disappear and there’ll be no one too-”

Cecil charges through the door.

“If one door appeared,” I say. “I guess it’s likely another one will. Besides, it’s this or facing all those guards.”

“Okay!” He says brightly, and then he also runs through. I jump in after them and close the old oak door behind us. There’s a lock. I turn it.

“Safe,” I sigh. I hear pounding on the door, and something that might be shooting. But it doesn’t budge. I turn out to look at the desert. It looks like the one we were just in, but darker. I can see a mountain in the distance, with a lighthouse blinking on top of it.

“Okay,” I say. Kevin’s started to wander off and Cecil is staring at the mountain in shock. “We need to make camp. I have a tarp, we just need... sticks?”

“Why don’t we just head for the lighthouse?” Kevin asks. “We could probably sleep there.”

“Because it’s on top of a giant mountain.”

“Mountains,” Cecil scoffs, “aren’t real.”

“I don’t care if it’s real or not,” I snap. “It’s steep. In the past two days, I have hung off the bottom of a car, sat still in a desert, run from guards, not eaten properly, and done a whole bunch of other stuff. I’m not climbing that mountain tonight.”

“You know,” Kevin says cheerfully. “You should never put off till tomorrow what can be done today!”

“You know,” I say back. “You should shut the hell up.”

Kevin pouts, and I shrug off my backpack and pull out some NutraLoaf. Cecil moans, and I throw it to Kevin. “This is your dinner.”

“Thanks!”

I throw Cecil the microwaveable pizza. “This is ours.”

He grins and tears it open. I join him, and we wolf down frozen pizza, sitting under the hot desert sun.

“Oh gosh,” I realize. “You guys need sunscreen.” I get it out and pass it to Cecil, who starts smothering it all over himself, and then he throws it at Kevin’s head. He looks up from his NutraLoaf in surprise, and it hits him in the forehead.

“Ow! Oh, thanks Cecil!”

“I hate him,” Cecil mutters.

“Me too,” I tell him. “Let’s sneak away while he’s asleep.”

“Agreed.”

“Now the sun won’t kill me, yay! That NutraLoaf was _super_ good, thanks!”

“He’s insane.”

“Definitely.” I get out my backpack. “Also, I’ve been dreaming of meeting you for awhile now, so I’m taking a selfie with you.”

“I-”

I get out my camera and take a picture with Cecil before he can protest. Then I snap a photo of Kevin, who looks up from his next packet of NutraLoaf, bewildered. I snigger at the photo of the surprised, spooky-eyed idiot.

“Ooh! Can I see?”

“I guess.”

He rushes over to look at it, then he grabs the camera.

“Hey!”

He clicks a photo of all three of us, then hands it back me, before skipping back to clean up his empty NutraLoaf packets and retrieve the sunscreen.

I stare at the picture he took, then I grin at Cecil. “Look at you. You look like someone just told you that angels are real and the dog park is now open to public access.”

“Well, you look like a nonexistent angel just kissed you.”

“Good one.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh my smiling god!” Kevin squealed. “Look! I see something!”

“That’s a cactus.”

“Oh, hey. You’re right.”

Then he falls over sideways.

Cecil and I turned to stare at each other.

“Run. Now.”

We both get up and take off, only delaying to grab the sunscreen.

About five minutes later, I hear Kevin shouting something and turn to see him chasing after us.

“Wow, sorry about that! I totally keeled over. Too much sun, I suppose. I hope I didn’t keep you guys waiting too long.”

Cecil sighs loudly.

“Never mind,” I say, setting down my backpack to get out the tarp. “Let’s make camp.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

_“Something about heroes. I can’t do this every chapter, man.”_

“Hey,” Kevin says in between songs, as Cecil stares wordlessly into the fire. “What did you say your name was?”

“Me?”

“No, Cecil. You. Yes, you, cupcake. What’s your name?”

“Oh, Peyton.”

Kevin frowns, not in an unhappy way, but in a considerate way. “Like, P-A-I-ton, or P-E-Y-ton?”

“With an E?”

He narrows his eyes. “Like, Peyton _Wilson_ Peyton?”

“Uh,” I say, feeling a snap of excitement in my stomach. “Yes, actually?”

Kevin’s grin goes wide, and he reaches over to ruffle my hair, to my complete and utter annoyance. “Get right out of town! You’re so _big_ now, wow! What are you, fifteen?”

“Do you know who I am?!”

“Yeah!” Kevin nods. “Well, kinda. You were one of my interns, uh... three? Two or three years ago. I think you were just about thirteen.”

_“Really?!”_

“Yes!”

“For how long?” I demand.

“Only about a week. Lauren introduced you and said you were my new intern, and I said ‘omigosh she’s so cute, can I keep her,’ and Lauren was like, ‘ _no’_ , and I was like ‘ _fine’_ , and then you helped me do my shows for a week. Then I come in and I go ‘where’s Peyton I brought her some cocoa and made cookies,’ because I told you I would, and Lauren goes ‘oh Peyton’s dead’ and I was really upset and then a month later Lauren arrested me and I hate her now.”

“Uh... okay,” I say. Well, that was an info dump. “Where did I come from?”

“I dunno! You were really tiny.”

“That’s... useful information. Do you know where I lived?”

“Nah, you always got to the station really early and left really late. There was always this other kid following you around, though, he was there very morning and then he’d come to pick you up-”

“Wait, dark hair, leather jacket, dark eyes... likes to smoke!”

“Yeah!”

“That’s Joseph!”

“Who’s Joseph?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Lauren said he worked with us.”

“Did she,” I say to myself, turning to glance over at Cecil. The firelight is reflected in his eyes.

“Uh, yeah. Hey, cupcake, where’ve you _been_ the last few years? You don’t _seem_ dead.”

“I don’t know,” I tell him.

“Oh. That’s weird.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “It is.”

Kevin doesn’t say anything

“The world is so small,” Cecil says suddenly. “ _We’re_ so small. Why are we so small? Don’t we matter? _Why’s everything so... endless?”_

“That’s... um.”

“We’re all just meaningless chunks in an unfeeling world,” Kevin agrees cheerfully before he starts singing again.

“I’m thirsty,” I announce, and go to get some water from the backpack. I pull out my laptop and see an email from Carlos. It has a complicated sounding subject line, and I’m pretty sure I can’t pronounce half of his words. I feel like spiting him, so I pull out my phone, take a picture of Cecil and Kevin, then I text it to him. _I have a cell phone now. We’re all having fun without you._ Then I answer his email, ask how to get out of the desert otherworld, eat a cookie, and put everything away.

 

_When the girl heads back towards the fire, the black-eyed one has fallen asleep on the one that looks just like him._

_He looks angry, but doesn’t push him off. Soon, he’s asleep too._

_The girl takes another photo, and then she falls asleep with a backpack as a pillow._

When I wake up, it’s still early morning. I sit up and stretch. Cecil and Kevin are still asleep, and Kevin’s sprawled out on top of Cecil, very nearly cuddling him.

I roll over and get out my laptop and phone. No text back from Carlos. There’s an email, though, filled with more science mumbo jumbo. And an answer to my question- there’s another old oak door in the light house.

“Whatcha doing?”

I jump as I realize Kevin’s been standing in front of me. “Emailing,” I snap, shutting my computer screen.

“Who?”

“ _No one_.”

“You’re _lying_ ,” he beams at me, and sits down. “Whowho _who_?”

“I told you, no one.”

He grabs the laptop and opens it. “Hey!”

“Oh,” he says, and gives me the laptop back. “That’s who. You found him, huh?”

“... Yes.”

“ _That’s_ why you stepped on me.”

“Um, yeah. Sorry about that.” _Not really._

“Oh, it’s fine!”

“So... did you know where he was?”

“Oh, yeah. There’s only one door out of the desert, in the lighthouse. It leads straight into the radio station.”

“Uh huh,” I frown. Carlos had conveniently left that out.

“So when Carlos come out, I was actually eating my lunch. It was random.”

“Interesting,” I say, putting the laptop away. Kevin nods.

“You know what? I’m kinda hungry. Can you wake Cecil up for breakfast?”

“Nah, let’s let him rest.”

“Okay. Can _we_ eat breakfast?”

“Sure.” I hand him a cookie, and then I eat one. Kevin chews loudly.

“I think you’re growing on me,” I tell him. “Which sucks, because I hate you.”

“Pey _ton_.”

“Sorry, it’s true.”

“Can I have another cookie?”

“Sure.”


End file.
